Quarantined from Resurrection by swampmessiah

I can never remember how you opened my eyes. A sound? A movement? A slight change in the temperature or electrical charge of the day? Nothing has been the same.
There is some blight, both without and within, like a malignant fungus turning its host into dark slime, that makes me repellent—yet nothing so obvious. It’s more like a subliminal warning, like the smallest hint of decay that eludes you until, one day, quite by accident while looking for an onion, you open the cupboard to discover that the potatoes have turned to mush.
Quarantined until final disposal, I can only watch. Even before I know of you, perhaps even before birth, some obscure law of nature or act of legislation has made my isolation a necessity. Is it any wonder that my mind enters the void when I think of you? I try to imagine what might happen should you find me and, filled with delight, come to me overflowing with love, your arms opening to engulf me…Nothing. All I see is the great expanse of impossibility.

• Spoken Word
• poetry
• poetry and music
• poetry and other sounds
• rhythm ruts
• sound art
• Saint Paul